


Where Are You

by h0ldthiscat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, post-ep: emily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0ldthiscat/pseuds/h0ldthiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pours the pre-made grounds into the coffee maker, afraid that in the whirring of the grinder she’d slip out the door unnoticed and be gone for good. She is five feet away from him but she’s so far away. He’s only just got her back. He can’t lose her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Are You

She is either still too in shock to give the cab driver her own address, or she knows he’d insist that he stay with her, but either way, they both get out when the driver pulls up at Mulder’s building. She’d flinched at the airport when he’d tried to guide her with a hand on the small of her back so he doesn’t do it now as they exit the elevator and walk to the end of the hall. 

“You can stay here tonight,” he says, though he thinks it’s pretty obvious.

“Thank you.” Her voice is low and tight. She ducks under his arm when he opens the door and deposits her bag in front of the couch.

“Take the bed, please,” Mulder insists. 

She responds only with a curt shake of her head. Mulder moves to the bedroom and puts down his own bag, messily packed and repacked full of clothes that were a little too warm for San Diego. He goes back out to the kitchen to make coffee. His 1997 calendar hangs on the wall above the trash can, obsolete now. 

As he pulls it down, he calls over his shoulder, “The Calendar Police are gonna get me this year.”

There is a pause, and then her voice comes distantly from the living room, “Huh?”

He pours the pre-made grounds into the coffee maker, afraid that in the whirring of the grinder she’d slip out the door unnoticed and be gone for good. She is five feet away from him but she’s so far away. He’s only just got her back. He can’t lose her again.

“When I was a kid,” he explains, “I used to tell Samantha that if we didn’t take down our calendar exactly at midnight on New Year’s, there was a special task force of police who’d come to our house and arrest us.” 

“The Calendar Police, huh?” She’s risen from the couch and leans against the wall in the kitchen, as if even standing up is too exhausting. 

“Not one of my more imaginative ideas,” he admits.

“So your penchant for tall tales goes way back, huh?” she teases, and cracks a smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight, Mulder.”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

She manages a smile and looks like she’s about to say something when the coffee pot beeps. Scully clears her throat and turns away, and he moves to the cabinet to get mugs. When he turns back around she is sitting on the couch, flicking through channels with the volume on low. 

“Cream, no sugar,” he announces, placing the mug before her on the coffee table. 

“Thanks.” She picks it up and pulls the sleeve of her sweater over her palm to hold the steaming cup without burning her hand. 

The channel surfing seems to have stopped on old Scooby-Doo reruns. He glances over at her, a quip rising to his lips, but even though she’s staring at the TV she doesn’t appear to be watching. He falls silent, sipping his own coffee too quickly and burning his tongue.

He hisses, “Shit,” at the same time she says, “I never even really liked the name Emily.”

He sits up on the couch, sloshing a little more scalding liquid out of his too-full cup and onto his shirt. “What?” he asks, his tone a little too harsh as he reaches for something on the side table to blot the stain.

“I said I never liked the name Emily,” she repeats, and this time he stills. It’s the first time she’s said the child’s name since they left the church in San Diego. Funerals in January are always so horrible, he thinks, something about the promise of hope and a new year being squelched by life’s unrelenting reminder of mortality. He’s never cared for the holidays. 

“You know how you meet one bad kid growing up and you can’t think of their name without picturing that terrible child?” she continues. 

“Sure,” he says, the tip of his tongue still throbbing from the coffee.

“Emily Castro,” she says, and then smiles without her teeth. “She was in my Sunday school class in second grade and she used to tease me… call me names, make fun of my freckles, you know, kid stuff. So for years I’ve hated the name Emily. But then I met her and--”

Her chin trembles and he is terrified that she is going to cry. Her voice has taken on that watery quality, placed in the back of her throat, like maybe if she talks there she can keep the sobs from coming out. 

“The thought never even crossed my mind,” Scully sighs. “She was so perfect.”

Her eyes shine with the memory of a daughter she’d known for so short a time but loved with such intensity that he starts to well up himself. He’s only recently let himself believe that the pull he feels towards her is love, that the way his gut drops when she flashes one of her rare grins is more than just a friendly affection. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed much about their relationship; he is still overcome with the desire to hold her hand. 

“Well,” he ventures, wetting his lips, “it’s a good thing you’re probably never going to meet someone else named Fox, because I think I’ve pretty much ruined that for you, huh?”

She looks up at him like she almost can’t believe he’s just said something so stupid, but then she gives a small laugh and hugs him, one hand on the back of his neck, the other sandwiched between their bodies as she pulls him close, her fist closing over the coffee stain on his chest. Her head turns toward his and he can feel her breath on his neck, just under his ear. His arms encircle her, coming to rest on her right shoulder, letting her rest her full weight on him. 

They sit there for a long time, their coffee getting cold, and he tries not to think about how lovely she smells, sweet like peonies and dark like vanilla.


End file.
